Muffin and Predator
by spot.fear
Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances, convict Teague must team up with an other-worldly hunter to get back to Earth. Rated M for language, violence, and adult themes. Based mostly off of the PC game AVP2.
1. Chapter 1: Escape

**This is my current project. It rambles some and I fear that not all of it is cannon, so I am definitely looking for constructive criticism. Also, throw your ideas at me because soon I will be caught up with all of the ones I currently have in my own uncreative head. Based on the PC game AvP2, which I played too much as a child. Expect lots of language, some fluff, a little humor, and plenty of gore. Thanks for reading!**

 **Sincerely, Spot**

"Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Goddammit." Teague panted and cursed as she scrambled down the narrow shaft, keeping her words soft and her movements muffled. She couldn't help but swear with the impact of her left arm on the metal, though. It hurt like a son of a bitch each time she brought it down. Using her own shoulder as a battering ram to knock the vent off of the wall may not have been the best idea, but she had been in too much of a hurry to stop and think. The gunfire down the hall had seen to that, as she huddled unarmed in a little service alcove.

She didn't know where she was going; she just needed to be out of Ward E. In the murky, dusty light of the ventilation shaft, so small that she couldn't crawl but had to squirm on her belly, Teague heard the drone of a fan ahead and the shouted orders to capture or kill behind, and she knew she was screwed. She reached the end of the shaft and saw that it continued to her left, right into the chopping blades of the fan. A low, desperate groan escaped her lips and she looked down through the mesh that covered the grate under her elbows. She couldn't see much, just fluorescent light and a metal room, but it was quiet and that was good enough for Teague.

She scrunched as much of her petite little body onto the cover as she could and began to push and stomp. The tin gave way under the soft slippers she wore and Teague fell through abruptly, squawking in alarm and grabbing for the edge of the vent as she plunged past. Unfortunately, only Teague's left hand managed to catch the metal rim and when her arm snapped tight, her wounded shoulder exploded with pain. She screamed as she fell gracelessly to the ground and landed on her side. For a moment she sat with her bare ass on the cold steel floor and her right hand holding her left elbow like a vice. When the pain ebbed enough for Teague to open her eyes and loosen her clenched jaw some, she saw that she had dropped into a small, spare lab, peaceful with its quietly humming computers. There was only one door, electronic and undoubtedly locked, and the dominant feature in the room was a pressurized holding tank, like a big clear coffin. It stood upright against one wall, with sensors and hoses anchoring it to a nearby computer bank. Inside was a man so hideous that Teague had to take a moment to stare, despite her dire situation. He may have been an experiment, but she suspected her was an alien. Not one of the indigenous creatures, the ones she had come to know well, but an alien none the less. God, what a fucked up face. He watched her with beady yellow eyes sunk into yellow skin, dotted with green.

After a moment that was longer than she had to spare, Teague wrenched her eyes away from the fascinatingly ugly humanoid and began to claw at the door. There was no lock in the room; it had to be operated from outside. It wouldn't take the soldiers long to find her. She needed out. Teague's fingers dug into the crack between the doors and she pulled as hard as she could, straining her arms til her left shoulder felt like it would pop out, but she knew it was a futile effort. Behind her, a dull, muffled clacking sound drew her attention back to the alien in the room behind her. He was staring at her hard and rattling the restraints that held him tight to the back of the containment tank. She had to do something, or she was going to be dead soon. Or worse - back in Ward E. Teague glanced at the electronic scanner locking the tank and reached up to grip the laboratory pass key clipped to the hem of her torn paper hospital gown. She had taken it from the body of a strangled scientist and it opened many locks. Under the intense gaze of those terrible, intelligent eyes, Teague took a deep breath and stepped toward the lock on the thing's prison. She had made a decision.


	2. Chapter 2: New Best Friend

The electronic lock read her pilfered key card with a civilized beep, and with a hiss of equalizing air pressure, the door to the containment tank released its bolts. She grabbed the padded handle and hoisted the door of metal and clear plastic open. Immediately the sounds of the alien, hissing and grunting, escaped into the the quiet lab. The noises were so inhuman that Teague had to take a step back to reconsider her choices. Her heart was thumping behind the thin paper of her hospital gown and the emaciated flesh over her rib cage. She wished the thing would quit staring at her with those muddy yellow eyes. Maybe it got the hint because the alien stopped its squirming and growling and stood still for a tense moment.

When she was able to hear herself think over the pounding in her ears, Teague decided that she had come too far. She couldn't stand there and wait to be caught. Even if the thing killed her, maybe it could take out a few guards in her memory. Steeling herself, Teague stepped back up to the open tank and began to work at the the thick straps around the alien's broad shoulders, a little above her head. It rattled its right arm, though, drawing her attention there to a dull metal wrist cuff that covered its forearm. He shook it again, such that he could in his tight restraints, and Teague began to work at his wrist straps instead. She pulled at them feverishly and finally got that wrist free, trying the entire time to keep her eyes from wandering down to the huge, bony hand with its pointed and polished black claws, easily an inch long and tapering to sharp tips. The moment the strap came loose, the thing resumed its thrashing, and Teague jumped back, shouting, "Sweet Jesus!" She stood in the center of the room and watched, terrified, as two blades, each nearly a foot long and exactly parallel, snapped out of the band on his forearm. He raised that fist to his chest and shredded the straps there, then made quick work of the rest of his restraints.

When he stepped down out of the containment tank, leaving behind a collection of IV needles wet with green fluid, Teague couldn't help but regret her decision. She stumbled backward til she was cowering against the door. When armed Teague could take down men larger than her and she had some occasion to in her years with the interstellar shipping industry, but this thing was bigger than any of them, and she possessed not even the barest weapons or armour. She was acutely aware of just how vulnerable she was as the alien stalked toward her with broad strides, those dual daggers sticking out above his clenched fist and a weird clicking growl behind his twitching mandibles. Teague had believed some of his height to be due to the stand he was on, but she had gravely underestimated how much of that height was really the alien. The bastard had to be seven feet tall, over a foot and a half above her head, and solidly built, too. He was broad and trim, a little narrower at the hips, with moist-looking skin that got pale yellow along the insides of his arms and legs and up his belly and face. The rest of him was reptilian green, with lots of black freckles, and around the bald, bony dome of his head hung long black tendrils that shook when he walked. Black claws on his feet, even longer than those on his hands, clacked against the metal floor as he stalked toward her. He was like a wall of green and yellow frog flesh, topped with a nightmarish face that seemed to be all insect mandibles and fangs and sallow skin and deep, black eye sockets.

Teague was too scared to scream, pressed back against the door as hard as she could manage, when the thing's unarmed left hand reached out to grab her shoulder and pull her roughly to the side. Those claws pressed against her skin, hot through her gown, but did not cut. He released her and she stumbled away to watch, sickened and fascinated, as he dug the tips of his blades into the crack of the sliding door and began to pry. It resisted him for a moment, but gave way quickly. Once he got those giant clawed hands past the metal, it was all over for the electronic door, which protested with the sound of grinding gears and crackling wires before sliding open completely.


	3. Chapter 3: New Clothes

**I'm doing a little rewrite on this story, for the record. Gonna try to tone down how obnoxious Teague is, also been thinking more about Predator and how I'm going to give him a little more personality.**

 **I'm writing it for myself, and I don't know that it will appeal to other people. But it seems appropriate to share, since so many of you have shared your finest work with me.**

 **Sincerely, Spot**

"God, you're strong!" Teague commented as she darted after him, following the alien down the sterile hallway. "Look, if we can find a ship, I can pilot. We can get out of this hell hole once and for all," she said with relish, not at all sure he could understand her. Somewhere ahead men were shouting. They were getting close, boots pounding on metal tiles. The alien strode briskly to meet the angry, muffled voices as a door slid open to their left and three men piled through, pistols drawn. They were hunting a small, unarmed girl, and the alarm on those faces when they saw the monster they had just walked into was something that would warm Teague's heart on many cold nights to come.

The violence was stunning.

One bullet ricocheted down the hall harmlessly from a lifeless hand as those blades slashed and the claws grabbed. There was so much blood. Teague didn't know how long it took, but certainly less than a minute. He grabbed one by the shoulder, much as he had grabbed her moments ago, and disemboweled him. His left hand darted out to claw half the face off of another and his right cut deep past the ribs of the third. He turned to the blinded man, screaming and covering his bloody eyes, and with a quick slash and crunch, beheaded him.

As the monster turned through the door the three grievously unprepared soldiers had left open, Teague paused to take a security pass key from one mangled corpse, feeling a little light-headed as she smelled that much blood. She didn't feel sorry for them, though. They had put her through a lot of hell. As she picked up a discarded pistol, she glanced up to see that her blood-soaked alien friend had not left her, and was peering through the bullet proof glass window of a door along the side of the hallway. After a moment, he turned away to look into another. This must have been the one he wanted, because he turned to her and made an uncomfortable gagging sound that was apparently natural to him. Teague snatched a spare magazine and trotted up to the towering giant, her thin cloth slippers sticking in the blood. A glance through the glass showed an office and lab. She was a little confused, but her monster seemed to know where he wanted to go, so she pulled the laboratory pass key from her neckline and swiped him in.

He ducked through the low doorway and she stood to watch as he approached a bench and picked up a metal mask that glinted dully, like his armband. It looked much too big and heavy for a human. A glance around the room showed her a number of alien artifacts, and Teague decided that if he was stopping to suit up, so would she. Teague stripped a corpse of its bloody shirt, mostly for the pockets, but decided that over-sized shoes and pants would slow her down too much. As she quickly buttoned it up, reflecting that she had worn corpse clothes before but never so fresh, a low growl behind her alerted Teague that the alien was back in the hall.

Though she definitely looked silly in only a bloody hospital gown and torn oversized shirt, she thought he might look even more out of place in only a mesh suit criss-crossing his whole body, blank mask, and strange metal undergarment. That was not quite fair; he also wore half a breast plate, some armor to protect his calves and shoulders, and a bit running up the outside of his thighs to attach to the heavy belt that held up his alien assets. Teague's assets were still hanging out in the back as she loaded her pockets with spare magazines and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. It seemed moot to worry about appearances in such a dire situation, but still Teague hoped vaguely that he didn't understand how foolish she looked.

"Nice mesh top," she deflected as she joined him where he waited restlessly. "We need to get to the hanger. Floor one-thirty." Their floor was locked down, but the alien managed to pry open an elevator shaft and they started up the access ladder on the side. Teague's left shoulder slowed her down as she tried not to put much pressure on it, but she kept up as best she could. When they finally reached floor one hundred and thirty, Teague was feeling light-headed again and her alien friend was beginning to growl and wheeze some. He was also dripping that green watery slime down onto her hands, and Teague wondered when he had gotten injured. They clung to the ladder and rested a moment in the gloom of the elevator shaft, and Teague realized that there was no way he could lever open the door while hanging from the wall. "Wait here. I'll open it from the other side," she said when she had caught her breath.

There was a little utility tunnel beneath the hallway, and it had only a simple latch, which she flicked open. The tunnel was dark like that vent she had crawled into earlier, and like the vent, not intended for human passage. But Teague's lithe frame slid in snugly and she crawled on her belly til she came to a mesh square above her. She could hear voices and pulled her stolen pistol from the pocket of its late owner. As quietly as she could manage, Teague pushed up on the vent cover, raising it from the ground just an inch. The people in the hall - two armed guards, watching the elevator entrance - must have been looking her way because one shouted his alarm and by the time Teague had pushed up into the open, they both had pistols drawn. It took her five shots to level them both, then another to execute the one who was still breathing, each fired from the cover of the ventilation shaft.

Once the hall was quiet, she hauled herself up and out. Pocketing her pistol, she walked to the elevator door and swiped her security pass. It slid open and the alien looked out at the dead men in the hallway. She liked to think he approved of what he saw but who could tell, behind that expressionless mask. Perhaps she was projecting. He stepped off the ladder, into the hall, and set off past the late guards. Teague paused to grab a couple of extra magazines of ammunition and one of the men's docking pass key.


	4. Chapter 4: Long Way Down

As they neared a broad doorway that opened up into a cavernous room, the alien turned to look at her for a moment. It was much easier to handle when he wore that mask. Sure, it was unnerving, with the cold blank eyes and expressionless metal features, but anything was easier to look at than that mutated alien face with its twitching mandibles and bulging skull. He tapped something on his wrist band and Teague heard the soft crackle of electricity. A moment later, he was gone. She sensed more than she saw him move swiftly into the room, and followed worriedly, quickly ducking behind a stack of cargo boxes just past the entrance.

She heard the murmur of many voices scattered around the vast docking bay, probably more in the ships. She would have to rely on stealth, and wondered if the alien was still on her side, or if he had left her there. If he knew how to pilot a human ship, then he had no use for her, anyway. It was a shame, because if she had to fight again, he could be the difference between life and death. Maybe he hadn't abandoned her. Maybe he was just using his own kind of stealth, but was still around and willing to assist in her escape. The cargo bay was a maze of big steel shipping containers and pallet jacks the size of trucks, and the dock to her left was a huge gap the length of the room and filled with a variety of ships. She reached the dock and peered over the edge, an updraft tugging at her hair. That wouldn't be such a bad way to go, she mused. It would only take a minute to reach the bottom, many countless stories below, and she definitely wouldn't feel the impact.

Behind a wall of boxes labeled "Dock C," she heard the voices of two men bickering, and darted away from the edge, silent on her slippered feet. She hoisted herself up onto a box as high as her shoulders and then onto the one above it. By then the two men, dressed in laborer's clothes and smoking as they strolled, had come into sight. She flattened herself to the top of the metal crate, still chilled from its time in space, and listened to them do inventory of the cargo, bitching about the double shift one of them had to pull. Teague wished that was the greatest of her concerns. When their voices had safely receded, Teague slipped back down to the grated floor, which was harsh on her poorly protected soles, and began to sneak along the dock as quickly as she could. Though the machinery in the distance made it harder for her to listen for more men, it also hid her footsteps some, and she was comfortable sacrificing silence for speed, as long as she kept low.

There was still no sign of her alien friend, but he could still be around. She hoped he was, the big ugly blood-soaked bastard. Her lithe little frame wedged between two big steel crates, Teague peeked out at the first ship she saw. Not only was it too small to get her back to Earth, it was still being unloaded and was therefore probably dry of fuel. She waited for a long few minutes until both of the loading teams were out of sight, one getting more crates from inside and the other busy organizing around the corner, before she sprung from her hiding spot and dashed to the cover of some derelict loading equipment. She skirted it and crouched in the shadows of its gears, peering out at what she hoped was going to be her ticket home. It was a military-grade personnel transport, small and fast and capable of crossing the galaxy at speed. It was as big as a house and oblong, probably with cabin room for ten or fifteen, and it was dark except for emergency power, suggesting it had been in port for at least a day. If Pod A's dock operated like the moon base that had employed her, which was possible but certainly not guaranteed, that meant it had been refueled already. There was only one way to find out.

She neither saw nor heard any men around, and decided that now was as good a time as any. If that alien planned to catch a ride, he needed to do it now.


	5. Chapter 5: Sunrise

**With this rewite, I'm also trying to tweak the tone a little bit. I like the action, but more emotion could be fun, you think? Maybe a better balance of emotion and practicality. I hope you agree 'cause you're getting it.**

 **Sincerely, Spot**

Teague scrambled out of her complicated, shadowy hiding spot, trying in vain to go easy on her left arm, and dashed boldly up the ramp to the door of the craft where it was anchored to the dock. A quick swipe of the docking pass key gained her entry to the gloomy interior. Though she was alone in the sleeping ship, Teague kept her steps light and quick, her ears open for sounds of movement over the comforting hum of electronics in the walls. She walked with one hand wrapped around the pistol in her pocket, ready to draw it or release it as the need arose.

Against her expectations, the need to draw came first, when she slipped around a corner in the narrow red-lit hallway - almost to the cockpit now - and came face to face with a man crouched over some open circuitry in the floor. He looked up as she approached and shouted in surprise, but before he was even on his feet, she had shot him through the chest. A head poked around a door frame at the end of the hallway and Teague fired again, but he was too quick and ducked back out of sight. In the cramped hallway, the gunshots had been deafening, but she could barely hear over the ringing in her ears the man screaming into his comlink. "Hostiles at Dock B! Armed and dangerous! Man down!"

She ducked from doorway to doorway, keeping her eye on the cockpit and her pistol at the ready. The next time he cautiously peeked around the corner, she had silently sneaked up to him, and at such close range, she put a bullet in his face easily. This one must have passed through and hit something, though, because some blaring, flashing alarm was triggered. In the small cockpit made for two, busy with lights as the ship powered back on in response to the threat, Teague immediately began running mandatory checks on the main monitor and telling the turbines to heat up. The cockpit smelled of metal and black powder. It smelled like home.

Teague was confident that she could pilot this ship, but she would be happier if she could actually watch the stats she was running. There was not time, though, as with a few swipes of her hand, she pulled up the security feed out of the main passenger entrance to see just how much attention she was getting. There was some sort of battle happening out there, she saw through the grainy security feed, and it could only be the alien fighting it. She could see flashes of blue light - maybe electric pulses - hitting men in the chests and heads as they tried to approach the awakening ship. She thought they were originating from the top of some pretty tall crates, and as she watched, sure enough, a blurry shape began moving along them, headed for her ship. Teague pulled up the door controls and made ready to slam them shut when her alien friend was aboard, then on a different screen pulled up the portal controls for exiting the docking bay. They were locked.

"Fuck this. Fuck it. Just fuck it," she began murmuring to herself as she tried to get the hanger doors open. But they had locked her out of the system. She managed to get the dock lock loose, though, and felt the ship hovering neatly in place. At least it wasn't too damaged for that. Even over the wailing of the sirens, she heard a loud thump in the hall behind her and felt the craft sink a substantial few feet. Apparently her alien friend had made the leap onto the free-floating ship. She hit the door control, began to strap herself into the five point harness of the captain's chair, finally found the button to turn off the wailing alarm, and engaged manual controls, preparing the ship for take off.

In the ringing silence that followed the alarms, a towering monster of a man appeared by her side, looking out the window at the front of the cockpit as a film of blue sparks danced over his emerging figure and that amazing invisibility shield went down. "There you are, you big ugly fucker! You're co-pilot. Fire a rocket at those doors," she commanded, adrenaline crackling along her nerves and over her skin like the electricity of the alien cloaking field.

After turning to her and growling animalistically behind his mask, the alien dropped heavily into a seat that was just barely large enough for him. His clawed hands hovered over the controls and his head, twice the size of hers with its mask and hanging tendrils, shook from side to side as he examined the monitors before him. Teague had eased the ship around the little cargo carrier she had seen earlier and had a clear shot to the tightly locked bay doors. Someone outside had found a gun bigger than a pistol and she could feel the ship shivering with impacts. "God damn it!" she shouted as she disengaged her harness and stood up, the floor rolling beneath her. Teague didn't have the time to teach an alien how to co-pilot. "You should strap in," she suggested as she slid onto the hot, mesh-covered skin of the monster's knee and leaned over the co-pilot's controls. Apparently he understood her English well enough becauseg she heard his harness snap into place behind her.

Teague engaged the rockets - meant for clearing space debris - and fired two in quick succession. Hands nearly big enough to encircle her waist closed around her midsection, claws catching and tearing the bloodstained olive shirt she wore, and kept her secure as the building shook with the impact of the rockets. They left the heavy bay doors in tatters like so much shredded fabric, and Teague pushed away the monstrous hands that gripped above her hips, swung her leg over the thigh that seemed as big around as a tree trunk, and threw herself back into the pilot's chair. Shaking with adrenaline, she managed to get her harness engaged despite the rocking of the ship under whatever sort of cannon fire they were being pelted with. Without hesitation, she accelerated out into the murky morning sunrise of Alpha 9, and immediately began to lose altitude.


	6. Chapter 6: Rock Formations

"We've taken too much goddamn damage!" she shrieked, casting a quick glance at her alien co-pilot, who was gripping his armrests tightly and staring ahead. Was he as scared as she was? Did he understand the gravity of their situation? At least they hadn't made it into space before things started to break down. From a launchpad one hundered and thirty stories up, they were going to clear the mountains that cupped Pod A. It was wild out there, and her chances of being killed before getting recaptured were good and high. The rocky, inhospitable surface of Alpha 9 rushed past under them as Teague squeezed as many miles out of the battered spacecraft as she could. There was another range of mountains, looming up ahead, and they wouldn't clear this one, so she started easing the ship down into the foothills before the cliffs began.

The moment the ship touched Alpha 9 and Teague released the half-dead accelerator, they were thrown forward hard against their belts and then back against their seats. Teague screamed as her neck snapped forward and then back, and the alien roared along with her for a moment. They were both cut off as the ship crested a hill and slammed back down to Alpha 9, jarring them silent. The screech of metal on stone outside nearly drowned them out, anyway. They had slowed down considerably and Teague thought that surely it would be over soon. Ahead, rushing towards the front of her pilfered ship, she saw a rock formation, made of spikes and spires of stone. It was sticking out of the mountainside they were coming up on and pointing straight toward them. 'At least we tried,' Teague thought, feeling surprisingly calm and resigned, unable to look away as the front of the ship buckled with a deafening crunch. The windshield shattered and the world abruptly went black.

 **Oh no! Will our brave heroes survive the crash? Can they repair the ship and get back to civilization? When are these two gonna make out, already!? Tune in next time.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**


	7. Chapter 7: Seeing Green

**Well, that was intense. We're gonna take it down a notch for all of you lovers out there in the audience tonight. Stay groovy.**  
 **Sincerely, DJ Spot**

She awoke coughing and choking on dust, her chest tight and every part of her sore. Teague opened stinging eyes and raised her pounding head on a neck like splintered wood. The cockpit was dark except for a few feeble red emergency lights, and crowded with rubble, both unyielding stone and bent metal. She raised a numb hand to the side of her head, a place of sharp agony, and felt a cold stone pillar there. It had just grazed her, right above her ear, punching through the pilot's seat behind her. If she was an inch taller or wider, it would have been a lot worse. The harness had pulled so tight that she could barely breathe, and Teague fumbled at it a moment before releasing the clasp and sinking down into her chair with a groan. Dust hung in the air and the metal under her thinly soled shoes was still hot, but the air outside the shattered windshield was cool and dark. They must have flown beyond the sunrise and into the night. Good. Though they had doubtlessly left quite a trail, it would take the men of Pod A a long time to track them this far. If they even bothered. This wilderness was quite dangerous.

After coughing to clear her lungs, Teague turned to her co-pilot and saw bright green. She wobbled to her feet and ducked under a pillar of rock that separated them at shoulder height, giving her spinning head a moment to clear. When she looked up, her suspicions were confirmed. Her alien friend had not been so lucky as Teague. A stone shaft three inches across pierced straight through his chest, just under his collar bone at the top right corner of a pectoral muscle the size of a dinner plate. He hung from it, pinned to the co-pilot's chair, limp and motionless. "That's a crying shame," she said to herself. "We made a good team." Teague reached out and clapped her hand on his armored shoulder, the uninjured one, careful not to touch his bare flesh which frankly disgusted her. Apparently her none-too-gentle touch was enough to rouse him, and the alien awoke screaming like an animal. Teague leaped back with a squeal of shock, only just dodging his clawed hand that darted out toward her, and pressed back against the bent and broken dashboard of the ship. He quickly calmed his thrashing, perhaps finding that it only made the pain worse. Considering the odd angle, he studied the wound in his chest as best he could, and then turned the expressionless metal face of his mask on Teague. He grunted quietly in what she supposed was his bizarre native tongue and stared at her, right hand hanging limp and left hand gripping the stone shaft uselessly.

"Okay," she began, when her heartbeat had slowed some. "Okay. We can do this. Damn, you are one tough son of a bitch. We can get you out of this." She crept forward to look behind the seat and saw that the shaft, dripping bright green ichor, ended a foot behind the co-pilot's seat. "Okay. Wow. How did you even survive that? Okay. Look," she stepped back in front of him, the mask following her movements as she tried to keep as much distance as possible between them, still rattled by his surprise resurrection. There was not much space in the rubble of the cockpit, though, and she was getting claustrophobic. "Look. I'll loosen a few of those bolts and we can take the back right off of that chair. Then you can move backward and that'll slide right out, like it went in. Damn. Seriously. How are you still alive?" A soft hum from behind the mask was her only response, and Teague wondered again how much English he understood. "There'll be a tool box. Probably over there."

She slipped past him to where a supply closet had spilled open into the room, and found herself eyeing the open door and the dark hallway beyond with desire. She could leave him behind in the wreck of a ship and he couldn't follow her. She could set out on her own with a pack full of supplies and leave him to die or get caught. Either way, he was no threat to her, pinned as he was like a bug to cork-board. Even if she could get him free, and even if he survived the night, he was of limited use to her, wounded so horribly. She didn't have time to wait on an injured alien. However, she was in bad shape, herself, and hoped to spend a couple of days recuperating in the broken husk of the ship. He was definitely strong; maybe he still had uses, even wounded. And she hadn't been lying about them making a good team.

All of those thoughts were moot, though. Someone who had helped her needed her help, and though Teague was loathe to admit it, she couldn't walk away from that. With one last wistful glance at the door, she picked up a heavy metal toolbox, using her right arm because her left felt like it might fall off at any moment. Sighing wearily, she turned to the task at hand.


	8. Chapter 8: Take Your Medicine

**My first review on this story! Joy of joys! I was beginning to feel like I was sitting alone in a dark room talking to myself by posting this. Or maybe I felt that way because I was literally sitting alone in a dark room talking to myself.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**

Teague was a decent handyman and had the sturdy chair back hanging loose in a matter of minutes, a small utility flashlight clamped between her teeth and and hands stained with WD-40. She tossed her screwdriver back into the tool box with a metallic clatter and stood up. "I'm gonna pull this off, now. Don't lean back." The alien growled in response and tensed, gripping the stone pillar with a clawed hand. Wanting to get this over with quickly, she grabbed the shoulders of the chair and wrenched it back as hard as she could. It groaned in protest and popped loose, sliding off the rock spire and clattering to the floor heavily as it slipped from her hands. The alien hissed and looked over his good shoulder as she dragged the heavy seat back out of the way and kicked it onto a pile of debris. She stood behind her alien friend, ready to catch him if she could, and found that he was already pushing himself back along the impaling spire. A low, angry growl was forming in his throat and it turned into a wild howl as he stumbled awkwardly back over the dismantled seat, crouching slightly to keep his shoulder level with the pillar.

There was a sick sucking sound as he jerked himself free and staggered back into Teague, who caught him around his broad, unyielding chest and promptly collapsed under his immense weight. She was dragged to the ground and quickly rolled away from the thrashing alien, who was roaring like a wounded lion. Still growling and roaring, he stumbled to his feet, gushing green down his front and back, and stormed through the narrow doorway into the hall. "I'll try to get us power," Teague called nervously, alarmed by his violence. He sounded so angry. She scooped up her flashlight and snatched the ship pass key from the chest of the broken and battered man she had shot earlier. He had ended up tossed in the corner of the cockpit by the force of their fall. Teague slipped past the growling alien to a circuit board in the largely undamaged hall. A swipe of the ship pass key gave her access, and she managed to pull up power in their wing, though the cockpit was a lost cause. "C'mon, now. I'll find a med kit." She tried to sound reassuring, though Teague could hear the tension in her own voice. She never was a good liar.

Teague led him into the captain's chamber, which looked like a mediocre hotel room now brightly lit with florescents, and he immediately staggered to the bed and collapsed to his knees beside it. She went to the bathroom and came back with a terribly inadequate first aid kit, but saw that he was mixing some weird chemicals in a little chrome bowl on the mattress in front of him. It was smoking softly and the room smelled like burning tires. His roaring had subsided to low grunts and growls, and he scooped up the still-smoldering concoction with a little metal spoon. He seemed to hesitate a moment before mashing the blue gunk against the weeping green wound in his chest. This brought about a new round of roaring and thrashing, his hair-like tendrils whipping around his metal mask. Teague covered her ears amd gritted her teeth but watched in fascination as he pulled his hand away from a scarred patch of gray flesh. After a brief minute, his screaming subsided, and he scooped up some more of the acrid chemical. This he quickly smeared across a gash on his stomach that Teague hadn't noticed over the hole in his chest, though it was bleeding profusely. He managed to keep his roaring to a minimum this time and gave himself a moment to calm down in the eery silence before turning to fix Teague with a masked stare.

He pushed the tray of blue shit, which was still steaming faintly, toward her and turned his back, crouching on his heels and watching her over his good shoulder. She took his meaning and stepped forward to lean over him, drawing the bowl to her side and scooping up some of the healing, cauterizing agent. She didn't need to be warned not to touch it. "Ready?" she asked, thinking that she was possibly more nervous about this than he was, and he grunted. The hole in his back was still oozing. She took a deep breath and firmly pressed the spoon against his injury, smearing it around some to cover the entire ragged hole.

He held still just long enough for her to finish and then he was roaring and jerking around, flinging his head about wildly. She jumped back after the tendrils snapped across her face, stinging like a whip lash, and waited at a safe distance for him to calm down. He did so eventually, and sunk onto his ass on the cold tile floor, leaning against the bed. Teague could hear his heavy breathing through his mask. After a moment, he fixed his gaze on Teague, raising a clawed hand to the side of his head, then pointed at her unsteadily. Then he gestured to the dwindling puddle of blue chemical.


	9. Chapter 9: Doctor

**Ya'll feeling the love for Predator, yet? How about muffin? Just to be clear, her name is pronounced "Teag," the first half of Tegan. The "ue" is silent. It's not "tay-goo." Tegus are a kind of big-ass lizard you can keep in your backyard. They bite, though.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**

Teague's eyes grew wide and she shook her head, still rubbing her stinging cheek and brow where his braids had slapped her. "I'll stick with regular human medicine, thanks," she said, taking a sharp step back. Her alien friend, covered in green but no longer bleeding, climbed to his feet and looked down at her from his intimidating height. He kept a respectful distance, though, as he gave his head a quick shake, causing his braids to dance, and gestured to the bowl beside them again. She eyed it warily. "I don't know. Are you sure this is a good idea?" He just stared at her in silence. It was his amazing invisibility technology that persuaded her. That surpassed anything Teague had ever seen, and surely his medical technology was just as advanced. She had experienced pain before, and anyway, it didn't look so bad when he administered it to the wound on his stomach. The bump on her head was even more shallow than that.

Still skeptical, she stepped forward hesitantly. "Well, okay. But be gentle. I've never been burned on an open cut." He placed his hand on the bed for a moment, and Teague climbed on top of the scratchy blanket nervously. As she laid her head back on the flat pillow and looked up at the man standing over her, Teague took a deep breath to calm her nerves and thought about the kind of trust she was placing in this thing that wasn't even from the same planet as her. Many bad days had been spent strapped to a hospital bed in Ward E with people looking down on her, and this position made Teague feel vulnerable. But she had saved his life. She just had to trust him to return the favor, now.

Without warning, the huge alien sprang onto the bed and straddled her, making the firm mattress bounce and stunning her motionless. Teague's hands were clamped over the mesh on his knees, which dug into the quilt on either side of her rib cage, and her eyes were locked with the dark yellow glass of his visor. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked bluntly, though her eyes were wide with shock. Green blood trickled down his bare chest and dripped onto her soiled, baggy shirt. The weird armored codpiece was pressed against her belly button. His bare skin was hot, rough, and nearly unyielding under her grabbing hands.

The alien offered no explanation, but reached down and grabbed her wrists, which looked tiny against him. Teague was acutely aware that if he squeezed, he could snap her bones with little effort. None the less, she began to kick and squirm, trying to twist out of his grasp and letting out a string of obscenities. He effortlessly put her arms against her sides, squeezing with his knees to pin them there. Teague was waiting for those claws to sink into her flesh, but she didn't think he had cut her during his manhandling. She was more helpless than ever, though, and as familiar unstoppable panic rose in her chest, Teague's shouting became incoherent, pierced with half-formed cries of, "Fucking bastard! Let me go! Don't fucking touch me!" Her futile screaming devolved into shouts for help when a warm, hard hand closed over her jaw and gripped her like a vice. Her head was hopelessly immobile and her thrashing was reduced to squirming beneath the steely weight of the monster on top of her. His hand shut over her mouth and she bit down on the rough, reptilian flesh that was plastered over her face. The mask showed no reaction as she looked up at him with terrified eyes between the thick fingers that gripped her. His free hand moved out of sight. Teague smelled burning rubber. The looming metal visor leaned forward, and she whimpered once before the worst pain she had ever experienced drove her mad.

Her body bucked and twisted of its own accord and she blacked out to the sound of the high, anguished screams tearing from her own throat. She forgot who and where she was. All that mattered was that she escape the agony in her skull, an impossible task when her body was held in such a way that she was completely helpless.

When her vision finally cleared to the rapidly ebbing sensation of fire on her scalp, Teague sensed that only a minute had passed. She was shaking violently and gasping for breath, her body exhausted and her will spent. The hand on her face had moved back to her jaw, and as she blinked the black spots from her vision, it slipped away entirely. As the swirling world came into focus through the pulses of agony in her scalp, Teague's eyes landed on the face of the alien, high above her as he sat back on her stomach, hands planted on his thighs. Still panting for breath, she mustered all of her will to demand, "Get the fuck off of me. Monster." She jerked her arms weakly for emphasis, and in response he reached down to grab the front of her face again.

Teague couldn't help but squeal in terror, feeling fresh tears spring from her eyes and sobs wracking her chest as she kicked weakly against his back. She didn't feel claws, though, and thought he must be using only the pads of his fingers. He leaned forward to examine the side of her head, making that weird reptilian clicking sound behind his mask which was mere inches away, and apparently found it satisfactory because he released her and sat back on her stomach again. Feeling weak and helpless, Teague managed to choke through her tears, "Let me go." It sounded more like a plea than she had intended. He finally loosened his knees and she yanked her hands free. They shot to his stomach, streaked with thick bristles like animal hair, and began to push insistently. The alien acquiesced and she felt the matress shift as he climbed off of her to stand down by her feet.

Teague spent the new-found freedom lying still and trying to catch her breath, staring into those watchful yellow eyes. After a minute, she managed to snap, "What the hell is the matter with you?" before rolling out of bed and onto her feet. She took four full steps toward the door to the hallway before a wave of nausea hit her square in the stomach. At the same time, her foot slipped on nothing and she went down. She didn't feel the impact, anyway. The ground rolled beneath her gently and the taloned foot of some deadly predator came into view. "Oh no," she moaned, but stopped talking because she thought she was going to lose her lunch.

Hands dug under her shoulders and lifted her upright, causing the world to spin and her head to loll against her chest. She found herself laying on a bed with no memory of how she had gotten there, but there were hands on her ankles lifting her legs into place. Teague groaned and winced, her vision faltering in and out. Her shoulder was killing her, and her scalp was on fire. She wanted to protest what was happening to her, but it took all of her willpower just to stay awake. "What happened?" she mumbled groggily, her eyes clearing long enough to make out her alien friend standing over her. He made some generally positive-sounding clicks and hums, which Teague found strangely comforting. That would have to be good enough for her, because she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.


	10. Chapter 10: Hangover from Hell

**We'll see about open-mindedness, my sister with the many comments. I couldn't tell you where it's going, myself. But almost certainly somewhere. First we got to establish some lines of communication. Thanks for reading, and I hope I can live up to your refined expectations.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**

Teague woke up moaning and groggy, and with a fuzzy but nightmarish memory of what had transpired. The power had gone out and the quiet room was lit only by dim red lights in the corners. It had gotten cold in the ship, and her clothes were too thin and worn to help much. Her head spun when she sat up to look around the studio apartment of the captain's chamber, but Teague noticed that her shoulder now hurt more than her scalp, though really she was sore all over. She touched her head and found that the whole area around her concussion had been smoothed over with some hard substance that she hoped was leftover sealant and not the permanent state of her flesh. She didn't want a scarred-up bald spot on the side of her head forever.

There was a big heap of blankets and sheets next to her on the bed, and it was letting out deep, steady, rattling breaths. Teague considered killing the alien in his sleep. The pistol was a large, uncomfortable block in her pocket. She also considered getting up and slipping away on her own. But he scared her too much to try and kill him and she was much, much too tired to walk anywhere. Maybe in the morning. She was too groggy to do anything about it yet. Instead, she tugged a couple of blankets away from the man beside her, tucked in her bare legs, and laid down to sleep more.


	11. Chapter 11: English, Motherfucker

**Hope you guys like the changes I made with this chapter. Tryna add some depth and drama to their relationship, while still keeping some humor. Again, it's a difficult line to toe. The next few chapter will be heavily edited I think, so be on the lookout for more changes.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**

When she awoke again, she was still feeling a little sticky from sleep, but definitely ready to get up. It was warmer, but still cool, and Teague wondered if it was daylight. The alien sat at the small steel table in the far corner of the room, tinkering over some things she couldn't make out in the gloom. He was bundled in a blanket, and he stopped his work to stare at her when she sat up and looked around. For a moment, Teague glared at him in the dark, then she climbed out of bed, taking a second to steady herself before walking to a circuit board by the door and fishing the small flashlight out of her pocket. After rerouting power from elsewhere in the beached spaceship, causing lights to snap on in the room, Teague turned to face the alien, rubbing her eyes in the sudden white light. One of her slippers was lost and she padded over to him on mismatched feet, sitting across the table, which was scattered with a variety of alien equipment, including that awful med kit of his. It had been cleaned and polished. The mask was there, too, and Teague had to stare at his hideous face for a long, fascinated moment.

She took a deep breath and, weariness masking some of her anger, said, "Why would you do that to me? You knew I couldn't handle it. Stitches would have been fine." He always seemed to understand her well enough, and she waited for him to find a way to make his meaning known.

After regarding her for a moment with those round, reptilian eyes, he put down the short, dull colored spear he was holding and picked up his mask. Teague was happy to have that malformed face out of sight as he attached the mask to his armor with some hoses, then flipped open a panel on his arm band. She didn't know it did that. Inside was a little computer screen with some foreign red characters. He tapped at it with a claw for a moment, then looked back up at her and spoke. "Your skull was broken. I didn't have time to wait for it to heal. Your bones seal up slowly. Now it's fixed. Anyway, you handled it like a well-concealed duckling."

Teague's eyes got wide and her mouth slowly fell open. This wasn't the alien speaking; she suspected he was as incapable of making human speech as she was of mimicking his lion growls and reptile hisses and insect clicks. Instead, it was a series of bits of recordings of different voices, spliced together haphazardly in a way that was difficult to follow and quite eerie. It was a series of men's and women's voices, no more than a couple of words from the same audio clip, each with a different intonation. "Why didn't you tell me you could speak?" she growled, still staring into the eyes of that mask.

"They did something to my field brace, muffin," he replied, then held the arm band up to his face to examine it, turning it from side to side. "I think it's broken. It only works some sunny day." It was difficult to follow his broken speech pattern. Some phrases had sound effects in the background like they had been pulled from a TV, and others had musical notes. Some were shouted and some were whispered. If she tried, though, she could take his meaning.

"Don't call me muffin. You hurt me, you bastard. You did it against my will."

"I don't know what that is, muffin. I told you, it's broken. I had to doctor you up. I knew you wouldn't sit still for it but I had to so maybe we can both live another days of our lives."

Teague winced at his awkward speech. "My name is Teague. Not muffin. Teague. What are you called, besides sick alien son of a bitch?"

He cocked his head to the side and growled very softly. Though his posture didn't shift much, she could sense that he was no longer lounging in the chair but sitting stiff with muscles coiled. In the silence that followed, Teague pushed back her chair and gripped the edge of the table with both hands, her eyes widening and staring back at him as she felt her heart began to pound with anxiety. She was suddenly fully awake. Nothing had changed visibly, but there was something very menacing about him now, causing a spike of fear that cut through her anger. Teague was suddenly very aware of how close she was to him, just across a small, flimsy table, and how familiar she had gotten with him. It was one thing when they were both running for their lives, when she had felt a sense of mututal dependence, but now that things had calmed down she was abruptly aware of the reality of her situation. She was alone in the wilderness with a creature of almost unfathomable mystery and power, and she was admittedly helpless to his whims. So far it seemed that they wanted the same things, and she thought they had some kind of understanding, but Teague had to acknowledge that this connection had limits - limits set by the hulking alien monster staring her down across the table. She swallowed hard in the tense silence that continued to drag on, feeling his eyes boring into her from behind his mask, watching her think. Finally, and against a strong urge to bolt for the door, Teague sat back in her chair, forcing her breathing to stay even and continuing to grip the edge of the table for some stability. Perhaps he knew that she understood his silent threat, because he tipped his head the other way, and said, "I'm Predator."

Teague took a deep breath and made herself relax some as he went back to examining his equipment, apparently accepting her fear as an apology and moving on. The tension dissipated rapidly as he ignored her, and it seemed that nothing had changed, except that Teague was reminded to maintain a healthy respect for the alien. After a quiet moment to let the atmosphere and her pounding heart calm further, Teague said off-handedly in a tone that was teasing and deliberately not aggressive, "That's kind of a creepy name, you have to admit. Do you have one that's less, uh, chilling?" she prodded.

The alien snorted derisively, dropping the little metal box he had been examining and looking up at her again. He tapped at his arm band, which responded with an quiet electronic beep, then released a gurgle and a hiss that she did not think she could replicate. Teague sighed in a resigned way. "Predator it is then. What a name. Okay, so what are we gonna do now? I got us out of Pod A. Now we need a ship that can get us into space and off this godforsaken planet."

Predator took a moment to reactivate his translator and said, "Since you canned this one, I have another. It's with my clan." There were more like him? Teague didn't like that at all. One alien was scary enough. But she had just escaped a well-guarded military facility and breaking into a different one sounded just as unpleasant as the escape had been. There was no question that she would rather die than be recaptured.

"Where is this ship?" she asked skeptically.

There was a pause. "I don't know," he replied after a moment. "I looked around the boat helm but could not access any maps."

Feeling useful put her worries at ease some. "I can pull them up electronically," she said helpfully. "But first I'm going to take a bath. You should clean up, too. You smell like a tire fire."

 **Cute? Too cute? Not cute enough? I like the language barrier but I want them to communicate some, so I'm trying to toe that line. Gonna roll with it.**


	12. Chapter 12: Recoop

**I know you don't agree with Teague's outlook on Predator, my sister from another mister. But give her time. She has a lot of upstairs issues with control that need to be dealt with by building trust, which just got wrecked by our mutually beloved Mr. P. So sit back and savor the drama. I do apologize for the slow burn in the romance department, though.**

 **To all of you fine people out there in the audience this morning, I find your feedback to be invaluable and reading your perspectives is eye-opening. Your support is like a hot bubble bath after a walk in the cold rain. Keep up the good work and may you bear many sons.**  
 **Sincerely, Spot**

Teague took a long, steaming hot shower, discarding her gritty, bloody clothes in a corner and scrubbing the grease and dried green goo out from under her nails. Being away from Predator gave her time to think and relax, and when that happened, the situation didn't seem so dire. She was on good terms with her new partner, and he didn't seem to mind her teasing, though she would have to be careful not to take it too far. Together they had a real shot at escaping Alpha 9 alive, and no matter the outcome of this situation, it had to be better than her time in Ward E.

When she had showered the dust out of her hair and some of the soreness from her limbs, Teague climbed out and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror to examine herself critically. Her long, curly hair had fallen out in the lab months ago, but it was growing back in as rich as ever and it hung almost to her shoulders. Her face was a little hollow and pale, emphasizing her wide, dark brown eyes. Teague had always been slender and pasty since her childhood on the streets of the old country, but now she was downright skinny. She wondered if she would live long enough to get some meat and color back.

Along the whole left side of her head was a streak of gray scar tissue, and she realized with disappointment that she would never grow hair there again. Predator had no right to do that to her. Teague wasn't so pretty any more, and though men's stares had always made her uncomfortable, she was surprised to find how sad she became wen she thought about the loss of her girlish good looks. She looked like shit, her body covered in bruises, but at least she felt better. Her headache had subsided, anyway. If her concussion had healed over night, that was pretty amazing. Though she still felt a simmering resentment toward Predator, she had to acknowledge that he had believed himself to be helping her. He hadn't hurt her out of spite or malice, at least just yet. There was still reason to find hope in this situation, and she used that knowledge to dampen her axiety at being in proximity to a creature that could and would overpower her if he desired to. With a weary sigh, Teague wrapped a white towel around her midsection and set out to find clothes that would more or less fit.

Predator was finished with his tinkering and had begun packing up his equipment, strapping it to parts of his armor. Some drawers set in one wall had spilled open when the ship crashed, and Teague kicked through the contents with a bare foot. She didn't look at Predator and there was an awkward silence in the room. She tried to ignore the lingering tension.

Though most of the articles were too big, one of the drawers had held clothes that appeared to be designed for a teenage boy, perhaps the captain's kid. Teague crouched to pick up a pair of dark denim jeans and a black tank top. She also chose a navy blue t-shirt with the Weyland-Yutani symbol on the front. Though she was loathe to associate herself with those people, Teague thought it may come in handy if they encountered more soldiers. She didn't have the papers to back up her employment, but maybe the logo would give some marines pause and at least buy her time.

By this point, Predator had stashed or attached all of his inventory, and he walked into the steamy bathroom she had recently vacated. She dropped her towel and began dressing quickly while he was out of sight, though he left the bathroom door open. Teague felt confident that he must find her as unappealing as she found him, but changing in front of the alien would still be unpleasant, she thought. She had seen him naked when he was tied down in that containment tank, and his special bits had been much more human than his face. The last thing she needed was a horny alien on her hands.

Not for the first time, Teague was glad that her breasts were small enough to not strictly require a bra. The captain had left an old handheld in the bedside table. Teague wiped out enough of the porn to store a few maps and set it to downloading them from the ship's computer. She also popped a couple of supplements and took a few bites of some buttered popcorn flavored rations that made her feel ill the moment they hit her stomach. It was going to be an uncomfortable process to get her belly accustomed to solid food again, but she needed to get started.


	13. Chapter 13: Tension

Eventually Predator stalked out of the bathroom, and Teague noticed that for such a big guy, he moved very quietly. The dried red and green blood, caked with dust, had been cleaned off, and Teague realized how bright his colors were, the yellows of his face and stomach contrasting the dark green and black running up his sides. It was in fact fascinating, how alien he was in body and face. Predator snatched the blanket from the back of the chair where he had left it and draped it over his shoulders while he crossed the room to her position by the bed. "If you get cold so easily, you should wear more than fishnet," she suggested with a smirk as she watched him saunter up. Teague had laid a jacket out for herself on the bed, though it was now warm enough not to require one.

He growled and said, "It was not this ice princess on the part of the planet I came to hunt. Anyway, this is broken like my field brace." As he spoke, Predator hooked a claw under the mesh across his flat belly and looked down at it critically. "It should light my furnace, but will not. All of my belingings are broken now." Teague raised her eyebrows as she listened to his complaints, wondering how much more dangerous he would be with all of his equipment in working order. Maybe she would find out if they made it to his ship, and that was not a sure thing by any means. But if they persisted against all odds and it came down to her catching a ride with Predator, she would be in his territory and at his mercy completely. It occurred to Teague that she should try to be on good terms with the alien by then, if possible. Otherwise she may find herself left behind - or worse, taken where she didn't want to go.

Leaving him to huff about his equipment, she went to check the handheld, which was plugged into the control panel by the door. The maps had downloaded by that point and she unplugged it from the circuit board. "There should be a board room down the hall. We can view the maps there and you'll tell me where we're going. We should check the cargo bay. With any luck, there'll be vehicles. Knowing all of the shit that's out there, we don't want to do this on foot."

"I could do this on foot," Predator replied in broken English. "But muffin is too small. You're going to complicate this."

Teague had opened the door and was halfway out in the hall when she froze, wondering if he was joking. He did have a point, but she hated to think that the man she personally saved would have the audacity to abandon her. It would be just like a man to betray her at the last minute, too, and Teague had no idea if her alien even had a sense of honor.

Suddenly startled at the thought that she could be left alone again - after all those months alone in the lab, the thought horrified her - Teague spun around to face the towering monster who watched her with intense yellow glass eyes. "Look, I need to know. Are you gonna leave me out here some night? Am I gonna wake up to find you gone? 'Cause I'd rather know now, and we can go our separate ways. I'll do this alone if I can't rely on you." Predator took a step toward her, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. Teague thought that he was challenging her again, and she stepped back into the doorway, tense and ready to run. She had acquiesed when he challenged her over the med kit, but this was different, because all of her plans hinged on having his assistance. All of it would be moot if she couldn't trust him to some degree. He wasn't responding, he wasn't answering her questions, and that made her still more anxious. She began backing into the hallway as he refused to speak, ready to bolt into the depths of the ship and find a hiding spot too small for him to follow. "Is that it? You'll leave me to die? Or are you gonna do it yourself, when you get hungry on the road? If I'm really that much of a problem, why even bring me along, Predator?" She was trembling slightly, knowing perhaps that she was pushing him too far, but knowing also that she couldn't go on with him now that the subject of his reliability had come up.

She saw his claws twitch and darted back quick as a snake; speed was probably the only advantage she had over him. Being impaled by a three inch spear of rock had hardly slowed him down. The pistol in her waistband would not buy her much time. But Predator hadn't moved much, only started to raise his hand, which he now lowered. "I didn't kill you and I'm not going to. You're too bony to be good soft meat and we team work well. Besides, I can't fly a human boat and we will probably need one to arrive at home base within this season. Show me the maps." He stepped toward her into the doorway - God, even the way he walked was inhuman - and Teague backed down the hallway away from him, trying to keep some distance, eyes wary and wide, one hand at the small of her back, ready to draw. Predator stopped in the hallway and shook his head with a snort, waving a hand impatiently at her. "What do you want, muffin? I said I won't kill you. I said I won't eat you. Go to the maps."

What did Teague want? She wanted to bolt. She wanted to get away from this alien who had taken an important decision away from her the way men had been doing her whole life. It was the only thing that made sense. But he wasn't a man, not really, and Teague's gut told her to trust him. She believed that this inclination toward trust was separate from the nagging loneliness she felt inside, the willingingness to make things work just because it was so good to have a companion again, someone she could tease and talk to and work with besides herself. It went against every logical bone in her body, but Teague wanted to trust him, quite badly in fact, and she had to listen to her instincts. And they told her that Predator did not intend to harm her.

Still feeling the tension but having made up her mind, Teague slowly turned her back on the alien and walked away down the hall. The boardroom was a few doors down and she swiped it open with the ship pass key. She turned on the lights and walked in. Any second, he was going to grab her from behind. He was going to hurt her for the things she had said, or with any luck, just kill her. Teague stopped by the big table that took up most of the room and turned around, one hand wrapped around the handheld and the other limp. He had followed her, a few feet behind, silent as a shadow, and stood waiting patiently, cocking his head back and forth between her and the glass table. He made an impatient clicking sound behind his mask, gestured to the table, and said, "The maps." Teague hoped she had made the right decision.


	14. Chapter 14: The Maps

Predator must have been an excellent navigator because the map appeared to her to be only a tangle of symbols and topographical lines, but after a few minutes of zooming in and out on a few ares, he tapped a place half a continent south of them and said, "That's home is where the heart is."

"Please let there be a vehicle on this ship," she said as she marked it appropriately with a red X. As the two of them leaned over the board table, overlaying maps of human settlements and known xenomorph hotspots, Teague recognized the enormity of the task ahead and also realized that while she didn't want to do this alone, she was also almost certainly incapable of doing it alone. She and Predator agreed that they should cross back over the mountains, even though that route brought them uncomfortably close to Pod A. This side of the mountain was all xenomorph territory, though they were currently too far north to have too much trouble. Marine territory would have more supplies for them to pillage and no active hives. As long as they dodged major bases and skirted the mountains, hopefully they could avoid the worst of both species.

Predator took to the map immediately, pointing out a pass through the mountain range that Teague had been searching for for five minutes and grasping the limitations of each type of terrain their route passed through. Fuel and vehicles were part of the appeal for staying on the human-inhabited side of the range. If they were lucky, they could maybe even find a transport airship that could take them all the way to Predator's clan. They both agreed to be cautious, though, and not approach human civilization lightly. Teague suspected Predator shared her apprehensions about being recaptured. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that cut on his belly had been there when she freed him, and she just hadn't noticed til he tore his stitches in the elevator shaft and started bleeding. She wondered if his surgeries had been similar to her own.

When they had mapped out a route, Teague led the way to the cargo bay. Though she had never explored this particular model of ship, it was very similar to some she had read up on, and so far everything was where she expected to find it. Predator followed her silently, still studying the maps on the handheld. In the big garage, Teague found a better payload than she had expected. There was a mine rover, made for rough terrain and designed to push through cave-ins. Big and slow and loud, it would get them through the mountains.

Hanging from the wall by the door was an inventory sheet, and Teague booted it up as Predator wrestled the heavy oil drums into their notches along the tank's side. She skimmed through the list of useless mining supplies til she came to the rations and sought them out among the rows of crates. Now that the popcorn ration had settled into her stomach some, Teague wanted more, and she managed a few bites of strawberry flavor before dragging the crate back to the mine rover.

The mine rover was not intended for extended use, and Teague could see that living out of the cramped, musty space for a week would not be fun. She briefly reconsidered hiking the mountains, but this would be much faster, and fortunately Teague had never been claustrophobic.

Teague took up her inventory sheet again and began searching for two things. She learned that there were no shoes in the cargo bay and her feet were getting cold and sore. Teague would have to hope one of the passengers had left shoes behind in her size. Somewhere in the bay, however, was a crate of classy pulse rifles, and another of ammunition.

She navigated the crates and found the pair she sought. The gun crate popped open easily enough. The brand new rifles were the finest shade of cool grey, glinting dully in the glare of the sulfur lights. She could see the electrical component on the side, nice and simple to prevent jamming and malfunctions. It was a comforting weight when she lifted the sturdy strap up over her head and let it hang from her shoulder. The whole set up was water tight and nearly indestructible It fit comfortably hanging from her back, ready to swing around and right into her arms.

But it wasn't loaded. She turned to the second crate and began to pry. This one stuck, and she was just getting frustrated when she heard a quiet snort behind her and turned to see Predator standing there. He was so tall that it was like finding a wall had been built a couple of feet behind her without her knowledge. "Sweet Jesus. Don't sneak up on me like that," she said, and took a quick step back. He looked at her for a moment and growled low, then moved forward and wrapped his claws around the ammo crate. He jerked the lid off and tossed it to the floor as Teague reflected that Predator could kill her a thousand times over if he was truly of a mind. "Do you want one of these guns? They're state of the art."

Predator shook his head and tapped his wrist band once. On one broad, armored shoulder a small metal device popped up with a soft mechanical click and hum. It was a little shorter than her forearm and it swiveled on its stalk, up, down, and side to side, as though looking for something. After a moment it stopped searching and looked right at her, which spooked her more than its moving around. The thing reminded her of an animal sitting on his shoulder, the way it moved independently while he kept facing her. Teague didn't need to be told that it was probably a very impressive piece of destructive technology. "I'll stick to my pulse rifle," she muttered, gripping the strap possessively where it crossed her chest.


	15. Chapter 15: Seeing Red

Back in the body of the wreckage, Teague began going through passenger dorms. They were small and simple compared to the captain's apartment, and she picked through the compact drawers quickly, pilfering a backpack which she packed with the occasional interesting article of clothing or useful piece of technology. She passed Predator in the hallway and saw him stop to look in an open door, then enter cautiously. His shoulder didn't seem to be bothering him any more than her head.

She swiped into the next dorm and began pawing through the drawers. Finally, some shoes that may be her size. They were sturdy, well-used hiking boots with road dust still on them and mud in the tread. She stole a pair of socks - some were already in her bag - and stuffed in one foot, then the other. These would do nicely. She sat on the bed to lace them over her raw, sore feet, and had just finished up when she heard something she didn't recognize for a moment. It was a human voice - a real one, not Predator's motley sound bites. And it was shouting obscenities. Teague dashed for the hallway as she heard a gunshot, and ran toward the open door where she had last seen Predator.

There was a scream from inside that ended abruptly and Teague turned into the room in time to see Predator crouched on the floor over the disemboweled body of a man in civilian clothes, blood and entrails spilling out over the floor as Predator twisted the man's wide-eyed head off with a sick crunch. Teague felt ill as she stood looking at the carnage. Predator looked over his shoulder at her, human head gripped in one large hand, and Teague wasn't even sure if she should be angry about this mutilation. He wasn't a soldier or one of those damned scientists, just a colonist, but he had attacked Predator. Teague would have, as well, if she had seen such a scary monster getting closer to her hiding spot. But she couldn't fault him for defending himself. Did Predator really have to tear the corpse's head off, though?

She had already pardoned the alien's actions as she walked forward when, in the quiet room that smelled of copper and black powder, the little utility closet against the left wall sprang open and a shape ran out, charging right at Predator and screaming wordlessly, metal flashing in one hand. It was a little boy, Teague realized, as she darted forward to intercept. She grabbed the kid's wrist and yanked him back, throwing him to the floor and quickly wrestling the hunting knife from his hand. She tossed it away and it clattered across the blood soaked floor. Predator appeared at her side, growling aggressively, curved wrist blades out and ready. "Don't you dare," she shouted over the boy's anguished wailing.

"He wants to die like a man. Let him," Predator argued, but did not try to stop Teague as she moved her body between Predator and the thrashing boy, holding him forcefully to her chest. The kid was maybe ten or eleven, his face bright red and streaming with tears. He kept trying to look over Teague's shoulder at the mutilated body in the corner, severed head sitting on its lap, though she kept pushing him down again where her torso would block his view.

"He's just a kid. I swear, Predator, if you hurt this boy." Predator hissed and gave his mane of black braids a quick, exasperated shake, then stood up and stalked back to his kill to resume whatever gruesome work he was pursuing. The boy had stopped squirming so enthusiastically and had begun sobbing even harder as Teague lifted him by his upper arm and ushered him from the bloody room. He was crying abjectly when Teague swiped them into an empty dorm down the hall and shut the door behind her. He immediately stumbled to the bed and collapsed on top, curling up and crying into his hands. He was a slim, but healthy boy who would be a gawky teenager and a tall man. In a few years, he would be taller than Teague. Shaggy brown hair flopped around his ears and he wore a faded red t-shirt, jeans, and dirty sneakers that had seen their share of running around. He didn't look like a rich kid or a street urchin, just a laborer's son, meant to be a laborer some day, himself.

Teague didn't know much about children and could never imagine settling down, herself. Awkwardly, she sunk down onto the edge of the bed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, kid. Hey," she said softly, and he looked up at her with bloodshot eyes between wet fingers.

After a moment of sniffling and regarding her mistrustfully, he sat up and threw his arms around her, sobbing loudly against her shoulder. "My dad," he cried, getting her sleeve wet.

Teague wrapped her arms around him and squeezed lightly. "It's fucked up, I know," she said, running her hand over his hair and rocking slowly in what she hoped was a soothing fashion.

"He killed him." The kid's voice was muffled against her shoulder.

"I know, kid. I wish he didn't have to do that. But I'm going to protect you from Predator."

The boy wrenched himself out of her arms and looked up at her with blue, bloodshot eyes. "I don't want to be protected from him! I want to kill that - that - betch!" The curse word sounded awkward and unpracticed. It was cute.

"But you can't," she said sadly. "You're just a kid. You haven't seen him do things like I have. Maybe when you're bigger you can go after him, but right now you and I both need him to survive."

The boy disolved into tears again as she spoke. "I wish I was bigger so I could go in there right now and shoot him with a gun!" he said, and punched the mattress with his little fist. "What he did to my dad - it's fucked up." Despite the gravity of the situation, Teague was flattered to hear her words quoted. She thought she liked this kid, and it was breaking her heart to see him in so much pain. She wished she could do more, but Teague was helpless. The kid sat next to her and seethed, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

"What's your name, kid?" she asked.

"Bryce," he snapped, tears still running down his red cheeks, though she thought he was trying to stop them.

"I'm Teague. We're gonna get back to regular people so you can go home." Bryce didn't seem to want to talk anymore so she left him with a bottle of water, a bar of peanut flavored rations, and his grief. She locked the door behind her and set out to find Predator.

 **I typically keep kids out of my stories. This will definitely be the most screen time someone under twenty has gotten in something I've written. So sorry if I fuck it up, folks.**

 **Yeah I wasn't sure about how to name him. I guess I'll need something for him to call himself when I do his chapters. I'll also need to decide what he's been calling her that gets translated into "muffin" every time.**

 **Sincerely, Spot**


	16. Chapter 16: Cute Kid

He and the head were both absent from the red room with the corpse, and she found them both in the captain's compartment. He was sitting at the table, which was smeared with clumps of hair and bits of flesh, and examining the bare, bloody skill in his left hand. It fit neatly there, like his hands, which were big even on his massive body, were the perfect size for holding adult human skulls. Teague was disgusted but tried not to blame Predator. Whatever fucked up behavior she was witnessing was something she should expect from a completely different species of being. None the less, it wouldn't fly.

He looked up as she approached, and Teague stopped as close as she dared to the gore. "You have to get rid of that damned thing," she said politely, and he cocked his head to the side, clicking at her curiously. "I"m bringing that kid, and you can't walk around with his father's skull. You need to clean his blood off, too. He doesn't need to see you like that."

Predator snorted reproachfully and looked back at the skull. "But this is my proof-of-purchase. My trophy. Leave the pup. He's unhelpful."

Teague took another step forward, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. She didn't want to fight with the big alien again. "We landed that poor kid out here in the middle of nowhere. He never asked for it and he doesn't deserve it. You and I did this to him, Predator. We owe it to him to give him a chance to live. Anyway, you're going to have plenty of opportunities to gather trophies along the way that aren't that kid's father."

Predator growled at her as she spoke but sat up a little straighter when she mentioned other trophies. He looked back at the skull in his hand for a long moment, then set it lightly on the table. "Fine. Burger King: Have it your way, muffin. There will be better proof-of-purchase from better fuckers. I put a barrel of water in the boat. There won't be much room for the pup. It's dark out. I checked. We should leave when the sunny side up."

Teague went back to the room where she had left Bryce, thinking that argument had been easier to win than she was expecting. Maybe things didn't always have to be violent around there. She found the boy staring at the wall and brooding, his eyes dry and the bottle of water half-empty in his hand. "We're leaving, come morning. You should sleep. I don't know how long we have. Is there anything you want me to get from the other room? We aren't coming back here."

Bryce's eyes crinkled and his lips started to tremble. "Is he coming with us?" the boy asked angrily.

"Yes, Bryce. I know it's fucked up, but we need him around to get out of here and back to civilization." Teague wasn't sure how to explain that Predator wasn't that bad and that he had only killed Bryce's father because he had to. That was a conversation for another day.

Bryce looked down at his lap quickly. Teague could tell he was crying again. "There's nothing I need," he managed through his sniffles.

"Do you want me to stay the night with you?" He quickly shook his head. "Do you want me to leave the light on?" Hesitantly, he nodded. "Okay. Try to sleep. It's going to be a long day."

When there was no response, Teague slipped out quietly and locked the door behind her. Maybe she should have insisted on staying. But it was the kid's decision, how he wanted to handle his grief. Aside from the thing with her father, Teague had enjoyed a good deal of personal freedom as a child, some would say to the point of neglect. Teague's lack of parenting experience meant that Bryce was going to have to grow up fast, and being allowed to make his own decisions was the best part of that.

Despite Bryce's insistence that he didn't need anything from his room, Teague went in anyway and took the wallet from the corpse's pocket. There were a few pictures inside, and she took one of a beautiful woman she assumed was his mother and another of the same woman holding a baby and smiling with a handsome man who she could only assume was the mutilated corpse in front of her. She hid them in the bottom of the backpack in case he wanted them later.

 **Sorry to be delaying departure, you guys. Soon. Soon.**


	17. Chapter 17: Goodnight

She went back to the captain's apartment, where the fresh skull of Bryce's father lay discarded in a puddle of gore. She kicked off her hiking boots and changed into a comfortable set of Weyland-Yutani scrubs. It was going to be a while before Teague slept in a real bed again and she planned to do it comfortably. The water running past the open door of the bathroom stopped and a moment later Predator emerged, a blanket draped over his shoulders. It was definitely getting cold in there again. "I'm going to turn off the lights, okay?" she asked, speaking over a yawn as the end.

"Yes," he replied in a robotic woman's voice, and Teague chuckled briefly as she picked at the circuit board. She left light in the passenger dorms only. The mattress groaned in the dark as her alien friend rustled around in his nest of blankets. She padded over to the bed and laid down in the same spot as last night. Her blankets were still there and she crawled under them.

"I like that kid. I hope he's alright," she said sleepily.

"He's unhelpful," replied Predator in the dark beside her.

"He's just young and in pain. I don't know about your people, but humans aren't built to go through this at such a young age." There was no reply and Teague found herself legitimately curious about the upbringing of aliens. She could imagine a little baby Predator and it was almost cute, but she couldn't conjure an idea of what boy or teen Predator was like. Hell, he could be a boy even now and she wouldn't even know it. "Do you think we'll make it to your ship?" she asked the ceiling.

"Maybe."

"Do you think it will still be there?" Her response was a release of air as the hoses on his mask were disengaged. Teague held very still as she felt the mattress shift and saw him lean over her to drop his mask on the bedside table with a thud. He returned to his position and rolled over beneath his blankets. Apparently bedtime was not question time. "Good night," she said, and got a low hum in return. It didn't sound aggressive and Teague smiled at the ceiling before she fell asleep.

 **And that's all she wrote. By she, I mean me. Imma get started on the next leg of the story now, and update you folks as often as I can. I think these guys are gonna make a cute little family, once they quit projecting all of their anger on each other. As always, I lust for your comments like I lust to be in the middle of a Predator and Riddick sandwich.**

 **Sincerely, Spot**


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